


Saddle Soap

by TheAwfulDodger



Series: Giddy'up [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cleaning, Comment Fic, Dammit Westfahl, HYDRA Trash Party, Other, Pony Play, hoofboots, thank you author!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 06:09:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10237544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAwfulDodger/pseuds/TheAwfulDodger
Summary: A thank-you-for-writing-this-lovely-filth comment!fic for Hyperthetical 's Hunter Class. Anders and Westfahl deal with the clean-up.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hyperthetical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyperthetical/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Hunter Class](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3797596) by [Hyperthetical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyperthetical/pseuds/Hyperthetical). 



Westfahl had no tact. He just dumped the contents of the duffle bag out onto the floor in the lockerroom. All the gear fell out in a pile of leather and metal, clinking as it landed on the white tiles. He already had a bowl of lukewarm water and a bar of saddlesoap sitting on the bench next to him, but made a face when the smell of sex hit his nose.

"Awww man, not horsejizz again!" he moaned, as he poked a foot at the pile to flip some of the stuff over. A bridle with a vicious looking curb bit appeared from underneath, the metal stained red with dried bloody saliva. Anders whistled and gingerly fished a hoofboot from the pile. She turned it over in her hands and tested the flex of the rigid curve that kept the wearer's heel off the floor and forced them to balance on the ball of their foot.

"I knew Pierce was into some kinky shit... but this takes the cake!" she exclaimed, studying the underside of the hoof. It was shaped like an actual hoof, and would leave horsey footprints in the sand, complete with the triangular frog in the middle.

Westfahl in the meantime had fished out the bridle, and had taken it to the sink to rinse off the bit. There was a chain with a little hook dangling next to the steel bar part, and he couldn't help wonder if the chain went into the Soldier's mouth too. He'd never actually seen a horse up close, apart from the nags pulling those touristy carts in Central Park. Sure as hell had never studied them.  
"I bet he gets off on making us clean up the crap for him." he groused, while trying not to get the leather wet. He'd clean it, didn't want to spent hours oiling it too.

Anders snorted, her hand now inside the boot, feeling the curve from the inside. "Kinky bastard. Guess he gets off on flaunting his kink, I mean, why else would you play dress-up with the Asset on a farm with lots of people around?" The top of the boot was somewhere around her elbow, and she had to flex her wrist to get her fingers all the way down into the hoof-part. Damn, that boot was unforgiving! What would it like to be wearing these puppies? Sure as hell wouldn't be comfy, and she'd bet a month's wages that they would make the stiletto heels she wore at formal occasions feel like Converse sneakers...An idea struck her, as she felt the hard leather inside under her fingertips. She took the boot off her hand and set it on the bench, where Westfahl was sitting and grumbling under his breath about horse-jizz and spectator sports. He had dipped the saddle soap in the bowl of water, rubbed it over the sponge, and was sponging off the bridle, the little chain clinking against the bit.

Anders opened her locker and fished out the shoebox that held her stiletto heels. They had been sitting there since the office Christmas party and she'd been meaning to take them home, but never got around to it, but it might be a good thing that they were still here. She opened the lid and fished the little gel inserts from the toes of the shoes. They were a clear plastic with blue gel filling them, and made standing in those heels for long periods of time a helluva lot more bearable. Replacing the lid, she shoved the box back into her locker and bumped the door shut with her hip as she turned. The inserts might not be the correct shoesize, but they'd be better than nothing, she guessed.

"What the hell is this crap?" Westfahl moaned, as he ran the sponge over a blinker, trying to get a suspiciously white, dry stain off of it. Anders deftly inserted a gelpad in the hoof-toes of the boot she left on the bench, and fished the other one from the pile of tack.

"Beats me. Splooge, probably. Fuck, Rumlow, would it kill you to loosen the ties?" The laces on the second boot took a little untangling before she could slide her arm in deep enough to position the second gelpad at the toes. There was a piece of horse manure stuck in the grooves on the underside of the boot. She set the boot on the floor next to the bench and stuck her hands in her pockets.

"Well, good luck. Better not go all-in at the next pokernight or you'll be stuck cleaning old-man-jizz and horse-splooge off of bondage gear till retirement!" She smirked and turned around, Westfahl's undignified spluttering music to her ears as she left the lockerroom.


End file.
